A Lover's Eulogy
by ASimpleMind94
Summary: One-shot with story potential, you decide. 'He knew that he was meant to say something, his eyes fixed on the speech he had spent days trying to perfect; but the words were blurred, the beauty of the eulogy he'd painstakingly crafted were dampened by the tears that had silently streamed down his face once a cruel fate had decided to intervene and ruin his one chance of happiness'
1. Prologue I: In Remembrance

**So, I've disappeared for a while but I'm back. I've taken a short break from writing for personal reasons but I'm ready to get back on the proverbial horse… with another new story to add to the mix…. Well, a one-shot that I think has story potential but that's for you to decide.**

**This is different from my other stories, it comes from a more personal place and I hope that comes across. This chapter is devoted to a friend of mine, whose strength knows no bounds.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.**

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><p>Stiles was always known for being twitchy, as though he lived in a constant state of an Adderall overdose. His spasmodic movements, sharp wit and perpetual expression of surprise were as key in identifying him as his toffee coloured eyes and insipid complexion. But right now, he appeared broken: However annoying Stiles Stilinski may have been to his peers, there was not one who could say that the weird boy and his quirky mannerisms were not pivotal in brightening up their day or disrupting the monotony of their lives. Today was different. Today, he wasn't the beacon of light many knew him as instead a dark cloud seemed to have settled around his very essence: The light diminishing thanks to the darkness that plagued his thoughts.<p>

His ochre eyes, usually full of warmth were empty: Devoid of light, the tenacity as he fought against the supernatural forces that have plagued Beacon Hills seems to have evaporated. They were now bloodshot, speaking of a sadness he should've been too young to understand. While he remained eerily still, his fingers curling into fists as he clings desperately to the last vestiges of composure; he knew that if he were to break down now, there is nothing he or anyone could do to piece him together again. Living amongst the supernatural was a constant reminder of his fragility, but he could wholeheartedly say that facing off against everything he had come up against in the last three years was nothing compared to this. This was the one thing that truly opened his eyes to the ephemerality of the human existence.

He could feel their eyes on him, but he couldn't summon the strength to look out amongst all those that had gathered. To see his grief reflected in their eyes, or more appropriately feel the burn of jealousy that they are able to grieve; to accept that this is the way it ended. He knew that he was meant to say something, his eyes fixed on the speech he had spent days trying to perfect; but the words were blurred, the beauty of the eulogy he'd painstakingly crafted were dampened by the tears that had silently streamed down his face once a cruel fate had decided to intervene and ruin his one chance of happiness.

But it wasn't enough: Nothing would ever be enough. Not now. He cleared his throat, relishing in the pain of attempting to use his voice: Since it had happened, Stiles hadn't spoken. The once extroverted young man had become a shell of himself, hiding away in his bedroom and hoping that if he closed his eyes there was that miniscule chance that he would somehow wake up to discover the last two weeks were nothing but a figment of his overactive imagination. He wasn't that lucky. It was now or never, if he didn't speak now, he knew he never would and that was something he would never forgive himself for.

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><p>Lydia Martin, who once wore the mask of teenage superficiality: Craving attention, suppressing her genius to conform to a teenager's view of popularity. But she had changed; circumstances had torn away any façade the redhead had tried to sustain. She was now laid bare, as the genius who would go to any lengths to save her friends; embracing her banshee heritage and allowing the seemingly detached persona to fade away. Lydia had to be the best: Best at being popular, best at figuring things out and the best at helping her friends. But one thing she had learned throughout her affair with the supernatural world, is that she isn't the best. In fact, she was a failure. Failing to figure it out, failing to save her best friend and failing to keep herself together.<p>

She couldn't look at him, at Stiles. She knew that if she did, she would scream: To drown it out and lose herself in the whispers that had been clawing at the edges of her consciousness. Since she'd failed in putting together the elaborate jigsaw puzzle, failed in knowing that one of her friends were destined to die, she couldn't even hear his name without feeling a lance of guilt slice through her core. They wouldn't have wanted Lydia to blame herself, but you don't always get what you want and Lydia truly believed that if it weren't for her numerous failures then they wouldn't be burying one of their friends today. One of their pack.

It was in complete shock that she looked up, Stile had begun to speak. But it wasn't his voice, everything was gone: The distinctive cadence, the unnecessary inflection and the youthful exuberance she had come to associate with every time the boy opened his mouth. Composers had spent centuries trying to encapsulate the concept of heart break, but nothing compared to the timbre of devastation found in Stiles Stilinski's words.

"… however young we may be, we entertain these ideas of forever. Infinites. We have the world at our feet and our journeys have only just begun, but not one person tells you that it can all disappear. That everything you work for, everything you do just vanishes the moment you die. My friends and I have been unfortunate enough to lose friends, and I thought I knew what grief was: Something that's devastating but diminishes over time. This time is different, the hollowness in my chest will never be filled; the number of tears that will fall is my new concept of infinite. When my Dad lost my Mom, when I lost my Mom: I thought, nothing can ever be as bad as this… but this is, it literally feels as though I'm fading from existence. My reason for going on is gone, and there's nothing I can do to change that. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to walk these familiar streets… suffocated by the memories I can never re-create, damned to just live out my existence with the other of my half gone. People talk about acceptance, accepting something and moving on. But I can't, I won't: I am not going to risk forgetting but because when I do, I'll be lost…. THIS. ISN'T. FAIR."

And with that declaration, Lydia watched as Stiles broke down. His scream echoing throughout the cavernous hall, he continues to scream: A pain so primitive. It feels like shards of ice settling in her stomach, Lydia wants nothing more than to shed a tear but her guilt prevents that. She is powerless to watch as the boy who taught her to embrace who she is, is overwhelmed by a pain she cannot even begin to understand. The voices are growing louder in her head, joining in with Stile's screams in a haunting harmony. She closed her eyes, trying to just fade into oblivion where she isn't constantly asking herself: Why wasn't I good enough? Where did it all go wrong? Why did tragedy after tragedy have to plague her friends? How could she have done things differently?

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><p>Scott McCall sat in the apartment his friend once lived, he was always adamant that the bite was a curse. Over time, he'd taken responsibility of his nature; tried to do what was best. People had always told him it was blessing and he had a responsibility to protect those around him, and he had failed time after time. Allison, Erica, Boyd, Aiden and now he was responsible for the fact his best friend was doomed to spend the rest of his days alone. He couldn't help but constantly wonder that if he'd blown himself to smithereens all those years ago: Would any of this have happened? He wouldn't have to witness how his shortcomings had ruined so many lives.<p>

He was meant to be the Alpha, a True Alpha. But since everything had gone down, he hadn't been a leader: He couldn't focus on what was best for the pack when he was forced to watch how his failures had cost yet another life. If he was being honest with himself, however brutal it was, he couldn't do this without Stiles by his side. He was a failure as an Alpha, short-sighted and selfish: He never realised how dependent he was on his goofy friend. How everything he'd ever done was somehow influenced by Stiles, but now Stiles was lost. He'd come back from so much: Being the 'harmless human', to recovering from being possessed by the Nogitsune. But Scott knew his best friend, and he knew that he'd never come back from this.

"Have you seen Stiles?" Scott is pulled from his internal flagellation by the soft voice of Kira, her makeup smudged from where she'd be crying, the whole day she has remained glued to his side. Her long fingers entwined with Scott's own, anchoring him to reality and ensuring he doesn't get lost in his own head. The brown haired boy shakes his head, after the service Stiles had disappeared.

"I think he needs some time on his own." Scott was suffocated by his thoughts: How could he bare to look at me? I led them into this mess, if only I were more cautious: If only I didn't let my emotions get the better of me, this would have all turned out differently. My punishment was to know how much everyone hurt, the pungent stench of their agony clung to the hairs of my nostrils. But Stiles, his pain hit Scott like a tidal wave; even thinking about it brought more tears to his chocolate brown eyes.

"I don't wanna sound pushy Scott, but you have to talk to him. He needs to know we're here for him." An irrational anger flares inside of Scott and for a second he is tempted to pull his hand away from his kitsune girlfriend, but it fades as quickly as it had made itself known. It was his responsibility as Alpha and best friend to pull Stiles from this ocean of despair he's drowning in. He just nods his head and squeeze Kira's hand before setting off, sniffing the air to locate Stiles. Rather than searching for the musk of cinnamon and mint that was quintessentially Stiles, he searched for the sickly sweet scent of utter desolation that had surrounded his best friend as of late.

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><p>Kira Yakamura watched as her boyfriend walked through the crowds of people gathered, to mourn the loss of someone so young and someone that Kira knew had so much the give the world. She may not have known them as long as most of the people gathered, but she still felt the pain of losing a great friend; still tasted the bitterness that follows the sharp knife of a short life. Kira still felt the physical pain of trying to save their life, cutting through their enemies in vain: But it wasn't enough, they were gone before she or anyone else could get there.<p>

Rather than standing around, Kira moved through the crowds of people: Listening to the fond stories they recounted, smiling as similar memories came to the forefront of her mind. She spotted Lydia standing near window, staring into the distance; her beautiful face twisted by the turmoil of losing a best friend: Rather than approaching the redhead, Kira headed towards the mantelpiece looking at the photographs immortalised in the homemade frames. Her eyes were drawn to one; Stiles had his arms wrapped around the love of his life: staring into one another's eyes, it was timeless. As if everything else ceased to exist when they had connected like this.

Kira crosses her arms across her chest in a futile attempt to stave off the ache that had taken up a permanent residence in her ribcage. Timeless had an expiration date, and it was sooner than anyone could have guessed. Kira's smile, which she worked so hard to keep on her face slipped away as she admired the multitude of photos,: Each one featured Stiles, and they seemed to tell a story, of how these two teenagers came together despite the odds. Their love more powerful than any supernatural force that existed, and it was all the more tragic because of this.

If a love that Kira had witnessed to be so strong could fall apart so easy, what hope did anyone else have. Kira knew that Scott was pulling away from her, blaming himself and suffering from depression. She shook those negative thoughts from her head, focussing on a picture where Stiles beams as he holds the one person who understood him fully in his arms. Their expressions were radiant, communicating a joy that Kira yearned to experience for herself one day.

"Lovebirds." Kira turned to see Malia, her eyes wet as she gazed upon the photos that held Kira's attention moments ago. Malia may have only been integrated back into human society for two years, but in that time she had grown into a woman of great compassion after finally acclimatising to the complex nature of human relationships. Malia had stepped aside to allow Stiles to fully be with his great love, and had been a great advocate for their love ever since and never showing any signs of resentment. Malia must have read Kira's confusion in her eyes.

"When I was coming back to terms with being human, Stiles took me to an aviary. I think to test my control, and see if I didn't try and kill a helpless bird, but he told me something: Lovebirds come in pairs. And if one dies, the other one follows shortly after. They were lovebirds, and now we're going to lose Stiles like we lost…" Malia broke down, her chest heaving with sobs she'd held back all day; some barren attempt to appear strong when she was falling apart like everybody else. Kira wrapped her arms around the werecoyote and a sense of hopelessness fills her: They were lovebirds, and it's only a matter of time until they lose Stiles.

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><p>He thought that by now he would be desensitized to death, the loss and the grief that haunts your every waking moment. No matter how hard he tried to appear brooding and aloof, Derek Hale was much more human than the werewolf would have you believe. Losing his family was devastating and he can't say that he's fully over it, but he had moved on: Somehow adopting this ragtag group of misfits as a whole new family, albeit a dysfunctional one. He rarely expresses his feelings, but Derek loves each and every one of them. And it kills him to see his family falling to pieces yet again, a testament to him being nothing but an omen of death. His family dies due to his carelessness, he fails as an Alpha to his pack and now the death of one spells the death of the whole.<p>

Surveying the room, Derek suppresses his surprise to see so many familiar faces. Astounded by how one person could touch the lives of so many: Issac leans against the way staring at his hands with Chris Argent stood next to him, Ethan and Deucalion are seated at the sofa in silence with their eyes trained on the floor in mourning, Morell and Deaton are gathered in the kitchen sharing sorrowful glances and even Jackson has made an appearance, looking dishevelled in his suit as his eyes remain trained on Lydia.

"…HOW DARE YOU!" The scream attracts everyone's attention, both human and supernatural, the echo of Stiles' voice epitomising despair. The room falls into silence, everyone's eyes are trained on the door to the outside patio. Derek knows that this is a private moment, however much Stiles' has single-handedly pissed the wolf off: Derek would never begrudge the boy his chance to grieve. And never would he wish to eavesdrop on such a thing, so he steps onto the coffee table before addressing the congregation of mourners.

"Excuse me, I think it's time everybody left." Derek's tone left no room for an argument; everyone seems to rush to get their things together before heading for the exit. His voice carrying a subtle threat that if they didn't leave of their own accord, then he'd have no concerns about removing them forcibly. It takes mere minutes for everyone to filter out, until the only people left gathered in the apartment are those in the 'know'. Derek clears his throat before speaking again.

"I meant everyone." His voice once again carrying an unquestionable authority and everyone responds, heading towards the door. Looking back towards the patio area, Derek leads the way towards the exit. Once he's at the door he feels someone grab his arm, he turns to find Sheriff Stilinski with his arms wrapped around the slender frame of Mrs McCall. His eyes are swollen, and both of the adults have purple bags beneath their eyes. The Sheriff just nods his head in silent thanks, squeezing Derek's arm in gratitude before heading out. No words are spoken, but they're unnecessary: There are no words that can make this better.

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><p><strong>Okay, I'll end it here…<strong>

**I hate begging for reviews I really do, but would you be interested in reading the story that leads to this point. I have it all planned out but I want to know if it's something you'd all be interested in. And to blackmail you all, I have the Scott/Stiles scene almost written out…if I could get say 5 reviews then I'll definitely post it, even if it turns out you don't want to read the story in its entirety.**

**So, what did you think in general? **

**Thanks**

**-Ornella xox**


	2. Prologue II: Conflict and Fond Memories

**So, I am back with another chapter of this story while I polish up the chapters I've plotted out for my other stories. Now, I had a review: The reviewer was confused about who died, understandably so, therefore this chapter is going to clear that up and hopefully flesh some things out :) Well it intends to anyway. It will be a long one too… to try and wrap up the 'prologue' :D **

**DISCLAIMER: Teen Wolf isn't mine. Please don't remind me of this fact.**

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><p>As Scott walked out onto the patio he cringed, it seemed that being separated from the congregation indoors had allowed the stench he was coming to realise as Stiles' anguish to ferment and somehow become more poignant. Walking out he finally spotted Stiles, or more aptly, the shell of Stiles. Slumped in one of the patio chairs he gazed into the distance, in one hand he cradled a photo frame that he held against his chest but in the other he cradled a bottle of whisky. Scott wanted to scold Stiles, remind him of his poor tolerance for alcohol but it seemed as if what connected his brain to his vocal chords had gone on a temporary vacation.<p>

Stiles took a long swig from the bottle, closing his eyes and clutching the frame closer to his chest: The bitter aroma of alcohol seemed to infuse with the plethora of emotions seeming to pulsate from Stiles. Anger, sorrow, despondency, hurt; the alcohol made them so much more prevalent. More explosive, unstable and it seemed as though these emotions were threatening to overwhelm Stiles' very core.

Somehow, Scott finds himself recalling when Allison had died. How his grief had overwhelmed him, how he had hidden away and waiting for the pain that had settled in his chest to just overwhelm him. How ironic it is that the roles are now reversed, but Scott is incapable of returning the favour: Stiles blamed himself for Allison's death, shouldering the responsibility for all of the nogitsune's actions, but he was constantly there doing everything in his power to pull his best friend from the depths of his despair. Unsure of what to do Scott sat beside Stiles, staring out to the Beacon Hills skyline: Repeating an action he had become all too familiar with, Scott rested his hand against his best friend's shoulder and subconsciously tried to alleviate his pain.

It was unlike anything Scott had experienced before, either emotionally or physically. It was crippling, as though his insides had begun to splinter under the great weight of Stiles' turmoil; despite his best intentions Scott wasn't able to suppress his reaction and a hiss of pain escaped from his lips. Stiles turned to look at whoever had joined him on the balcony, until now he had been unaware that he'd shared the space with anything but the photo he clung to like a lifeline and his newest companion Jack Daniels. As Scott's brown orbs collided with the caramel of Stiles' he physically recoiled, in this moment these were not the eyes of the boy Scott had grown up with. The ochre eyes that were once so expressive were now devoid of all emotion, Scott couldn't help muse on the resemblance to Void Stiles. A void, that's what Scott had felt as he tried to siphon away the pain.

The helplessness that Scott had been feeling for weeks returned full force; it had taken almost everything to get rid of the Void Stiles. People had lost their lives, and everyone who was lucky enough to have survived was changed irrevocably. The recent death was almost parallel to this, but despite the loss a void remained and Scott was truly at a loss as to what he could do to eradicate this void. Clinging at straws, Scott decided that the best thing he could do was try and shock his best friend into functioning again.

"Stiles, I know it hurts and it feels like it'll last forever. But trust me, it'll get better."

Scott doesn't realise that that's the worst thing he could've said until a second too late, it was the customary 'it gets better message' But as a werewolf, Scott was so much more attuned to the emotions of others, it was foolish of him to compare this to any other situation. Scott had never seen his best friend so torn up, he knew that it would take more but he was desperate for something to happen; for Stiles to react, to show that he had the capability to react like a human.

"HOW DARE YOU! How dare you march out here and start spouting that 'it gets better' bullshit."

Scott flinches as Stiles screams in his face, it's not rare to for his friend to raise his voice but he'd never heard his voice permeated with such venom. Stiles gets to his feet, wobbling precariously as the alcohol weighs down his limbs; Scott is ready to reach out and steady his best friend but before he can even move his friend rounds on him and growls in a clear warning. Scott has never feared Stiles, and he knew that physically Stiles would never be able to harm Scott permanently but he was terrified that the person before him was nothing but a rabid animal masquerading as his best friend.

Whispered condolences and reassurances weren't going to help Stiles, Scott had always known that. He was fruitlessly wishing it would be that easy, but it seems as though 'tough love' is the only option. Scott stands up himself and Stiles falters for a moment, as though he's subconsciously aware that Scott as a predator could hurt him. Another lancet of pain fires through Scott, he'd do anything to help his friend: Even if it meant speaking a name that he doubted people have uttered for the last few weeks.

"What would E-, what would Erin say Stiles? She would be tearing herself to pieces if she could see you like this…you know better than anyone. She'd tell you, Erin would tell you to pick yourself up and smile."

For a second it was as though time had frozen, Stiles' eye lit up with something: It was so quick that even with his heightened senses Scott couldn't determine the emotion that had lit a momentary spark in the eyes of his best friend. But whatever it was, Scott was relieved: He'd shown something other than the emptiness that had made its home within Stiles. Yet Scott's relief was fleeting, almost instantly Stiles' face fell into an expressionless mask; his eyes once again staring through Scott and his lips pulled into a straight line.

"No, I don't know what she'd say, about this or about anything really. Because if you've failed to notice McCall, she's dead. Dead because she chased after you into some supernatural battle royale."

The accusation is Stiles' words was clear, and Scott may have been offended if it weren't something he already knew. Stiles couldn't blame Scott any more than he blamed himself; but that didn't stop Stiles' words feeling like a punch to the gut. He couldn't remember the last time Stiles had called him by his surname, the last time he'd spoken his name in such an icy tone or if he ever had. Scott's intention to shock his friend back into reality was slowly fracturing, he wanted nothing more than to throw himself at Stiles' feet and beg for forgiveness. For anything.

"I know Stiles, every time I close my eyes… It's like it all replays in my head. I can't stop thinking that I should've done more. I should've made you turn back, all of you. I should've protected you all. I should've done more but I failed. I failed Stiles, as an Alpha. But most importantly, I failed as a friend… as a brother. I failed you and I failed Erin, and I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I want you to know that if I could change anything I would, I wish I had the chance to do it all differently but I don't. I'd do anything… If it could've been me Stiles…"

Scott's voice cracked, his desperate pleas echoed along the balcony. He'd screamed it out, his failures shouted from the balcony for anyone to hear. He thought it may have been cathartic, but instead he feels tears streaming down his face. Stiles was astounded, his mouth had fallen open in a twisted recreation of the comical 'O' his lips had formed so many times in the past; his eyebrow quirks in bafflement and he looks more alive than he had in weeks. Scott's earlier relief returned like a river breaking free from a dam, his words appearing to seep through the walls that Stiles had erected around himself.

CRUNCH. It came from nowhere, Stiles' fist crashed into Scott's face with surprising force. Scott can feel his nose already healing and his head is reeling: He heard bones other than his bones breaking, his worry for Stiles diminishes as he looks upon his best friend. Stiles doesn't look in pain at all, his anger twisting his features into a cruel mockery of his best friend's usual joyful expression. What concerns Scott the most is the heady perfume burning his nostrils, Stiles was genuinely trying to hurt him and he felt no remorse; only bitterness that I had healed instantaneously.

"I'm amazed Scott, I truly am. It's not all about you Scott- it's about her. It was her who died, this is about her life Scott. Not you and your whining… everything has just got to be about Scott. How difficult it is to be you, how you've failed, your insecurities and what you've lost. Well you probably want some redemption or absolution or something right, Scott? An answer to the great conundrum that is the life of a True Alpha? Well I can't help you, but I've got my absolution: I'm done with it all. Everything: Werewolves, Hunters, Kitsunes and whatever else that will inevitably show up… Trying to keep up with you and your supernatural bullshit has come with too high of a cost, and I can't afford it any more. How many people have died? Allison, I don't think even God would know how many others…and now, now she's gone Scott. Gone, and you want to talk about how you wish it was you: Honestly Scott, it would've been better because no matter what it's only so long before something else shows up that triggers your Hero complex and someone else winds up dead. But who will it be this time? Liam, Kira, Lydia… All I know is that it won't be me. So please, just do me a favour and leave."

Completely gobsmacked is one way of describing Scott's appearance; Stiles' cold assessment has crushed him. The verbal barbs slicing deeper than any physical would without killing him, werewolf or not. The wolf inside of Scott wants to lash out, to hurt Stiles as he'd hurt him, but the man who houses the wolf is currently broken. There's nothing to do but leave now that Stiles has gotten everything off of his chest, letting Scott see how truly self-absorbed he appears to be, but Scott's legs feel like lead.

The agony and anger is still prevalent, but as Stiles' eyes pass across Scott another sentiment rises to the surface: Resentment. Scott stumbles backwards, trying to escape the suffocating atmosphere but as he nears the door he hears that the only heartbeats in the apartment were his and Stiles'. They're alone and if Scott leave then Stiles will be truly alone, not only emotionally but also physically. The grim realisation is there is nothing Scott can say that will sway Stiles in any way, in a last ditch attempt Scott clear his throat as he stands by the door.

"Erin once told me that I could keep Allison alive through my memories. She said that even if the memories fade from our mind's eye, they will never fade in our hearts. I, I think she would've wanted someone to tell you that… I'm so, so sorry."

Stiles looks over, it seems as though his rage had receded. His toffee coloured eyes were wet and he looks gaunt, his cheeks sunken and purple bags are evident beneath his eyes and Scott can see lines appearing around his eyes: Lines that weren't there a matter of weeks ago. But as smiles lips curl into the tiniest of smiles, Scott's heart stutters. Had he finally managed to reach Stiles through the mist of grief that had shrouded his best friend?

"Thank you. She did have her wise moments didn't she? My- my…E-Erin."

Scott's heart breaks with Stiles voice as he utters her name for the first time since she'd died. He pulls the photo of her closer to his chest and falls back into the chair, the bottle of whisky laid forgotten on the floor. Scott doesn't know how long he stands there watching Stiles cry, silently hoping they can repair the rift he detects in their friendship and that he has somehow helped Stiles take his first steps towards grieving healthily for his lost love: It could've been minutes or it could've been hours. Eventually Stiles raises his head, his smile gone and he nods towards the door in a clear gesture of dismissal. His best friend wants nothing more than to stay here and comfort him, to let him know that someone is there for him but he can't. Scott had inadvertently cost Stiles so much, it was wrong to deprive him of the choice to be alone.

"Bye."

Scott forces the word out; he hears Stiles' lacklustre response as he walks through the deserted apartment. His breaths seem to come in shorter spurts as his heart begins to beat wildly, and he finds himself running. He feels the shift beginning to occur: Hair sprouting from his cheekbones and canines lengthening. It's almost animalistic, this need to escape: But escape from what? It feels as though his chest is tightening and Scott is now struggling to breathe. Scott knows that he's having a panic attack, but it isn't the way it used to be: There are none of his friends here to trick him into thinking this is an asthma attack. As stars dance before his eyes, Scott tries to remember something: Anything. Anything to anchor himself back in reality.

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><p>"<em>Scott, say something." <em>

_Erin runs a hand through her shoulder length blonde hair, her cerulean eyes fixed on her best friend awaiting a response. She was always impatient but today a rare nervousness is emanating from his oldest friend. Scott, on the other hand, was simply flabbergasted. How do you respond when one of your best friend is confessing some deep seated yearning to kill you. First, the one girl you can picture yourself with ends up hailing from a family of people trained to kill people just like you; now, you have your best friend asking for permission to kill you. _

_In all honesty, Scott was just waiting for when Stiles jumped out from his closet wielding an axe or something. Nervous or not, Erin was tired of Scott's staring off into the distance with a horrified expression on his face: Just like that time they'd caught Coach dancing around the locker room in nothing but a towel. Erin waves her hand in front of his face, a universally acknowledge sign to start speaking pretty soonish or else._

"_I don't know what you want me to say Erin. I mean, congratulations on finding your calling. You've decided out of everything you could do with your life, there's nothing better than to kill me and other thin-people like me. Is that how you plan getting a scholarship to the Argent school of werewolficide? Hand them my head on a silver platter."_

_Usually Erin would openly laugh in her friend's face, whining like an elderly pre-menstrual woman. But she was confused and became more confused as she thought about what Scott had said, while Scott was becoming increasingly exasperated. What is wrong with the people who are his best friends? He might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but he knows that anything that involves actively trying to kill your friends isn't going along with human logic, and Scott knows Erin is far from stupid. _

_Scott reaches for his glass of soda, and then puts it back down. His eyes widen as he stares at it, Erin could've easily poisoned it. Shit. Meanwhile Erin is just ain confused, fascinated with how Scott is starting around the room: Looking at the front door, Erin and the glass of Dr Pepper she made him on a continuous loop. And then it clicks, Scott genuinely believes she's trying to kill him. Even the thought of it makes Erin giggle, which obviously makes Scott's puppy dog eyes widen further than she thought humanly possible. _

"_Okay, okay! First of all, I want it to be made clear that werewolficide is not a word. And secondly, I am not nor will I ever try and kill you Scott. First of all we've been friends so long we're practically family. Plus, you're my Stilinski buffer- if you weren't there to try and reign in his stupidity I could guarantee he'd be dead in a week. And then I'd be imprisoned indefinitely, so killing you doesn't work out well for anyone."_

_Hearing that Erin isn't trying to kill him makes Scott smile, he should've known his friends weren't trying to kill him. But now it's his turn to be confused, if Erin doesn't want to kill him: Why has she got the sudden urge to become some werewolf huntress? Unlike last time, it doesn't take long for Erin to figure out what Scott is thinking or that he needs things spelled out to him more often than not. She seriously regrets not bringing down some paper and pens to use for visual aids._

"_Scott, I'm going to be a double agent. You know, like Snape minus the dead Dumbledore, bad hair and downright creepiness. I can keep them off your back, and if we're being honest: How cool would it be to be able to just kick ass? For example, beating the crap out of Derek has already sold me on the hunting business. The fact I can protect you only adds to the allure. Plus, the shit is seriously hitting the fan at the moment: I feel like I'm trapped in a low budget 80's horror flick and if I can get the Argents to teach me how to keep my ass alive, then there's another reason to go with Operation Erin the Huntress." _

_Erin smiles as she sees Scott's face fail into its familiar mask of confusion, his eyebrows bunched together and Erin has to suppress a sigh of resignation. A general overload of information means that Scotty Boy needs a tad longer than the average chimpanzee to digest everything. So Erin decides to do something of vital importance and play Tetris on her phone while she waits for Scott to piece together the simple jigsaw. She hears a gasp, and there it is, looking up she sees that Scott looks absolutely petrified._

"_No E, I am not letting you do that. It's too dangerous, if anything happens to you then Stiles will find out and then he'll flip his lid and kill us both. So the whole thing is completely pointless."_

_Scott could not be any more serious; it's bad enough that he's been dragged into this mess. It's only made worse by the fact his friends are getting pulled into it too, and now one of said friends is entertaining ideas of going behind enemy lines and putting themselves in danger. If something happened to Erin, Scott doesn't know what would happen: He'd probably go on a wolf rampage and kill half of the town and Stiles would probably find a way to set fire to the rain. _

_Erin just scoffs, Scott needs to wake up and smell the coffee: He is a werewolf, I doubt Stiles would kill him and however much she and Stile annoy one another he wouldn't do anything but sulk. She remembered in seventh grade when he threw a ball and it hit her in the face, he cried and brought her flowers and growled at anyone who came within a six foot vicinity for weeks. _

"_We do not have to tell Stiles. Firstly, he'd only be jealous that I'd be able to whoop your ass and he can't. Plus, it's my life and I'm doing this with or without your permission Scott. I'm just trying to give you a heads up so you don't think I'm trying to do you in whenever I turn up at your house. Plus, I'm the only one of us who'd be able to convince them I'm a decent candidate for this hunter nonsense… Seriously, do you remember Stiles' attempt at fencing?"_

_Any tension that had amounted between the two friends seemed to dissipate as they both recalled Stiles' dreadful attempt at the sport. Eventually their laughter faded out and Scott felt bad over laughing at Stiles' embarrassing attempt at trying to impress Lydia while Erin still found it fascinating that Stiles somehow managed to poke himself in the eye with the epee despite wearing a visor. Erin was about to bring up another one of her favourite topics: The 1,001 ways that Stiles Stilinski has made a complete idiot of himself while trying to woo Lydia Martin when Scott held his hand up; he wasn't letting her distract him until he knew the finer details of her plan. _

"_So, how are you going to convince them that you're being serious? What makes you think they'll even bother with training you, rather than just handing you a one way ticket to Eichen House…or just put a bullet in your head because they're expecting someone to cross over enemy lines. What're you gonna do, eh? Tell them the truth?"_

_Erin was surprised that Scott was being so forceful with his questioning, he's meant to be the laid back one. Stiles' is the one who harasses you until you break like a dog with a bone, but because she's putting herself in 'danger' Scott feels duty bound to protect her in every way possible like an overbearing big brother. Since she needs to keep him sweet she suppresses the immense urge to roll her eyes, which is something she is very used to, and just smiles at him._

"_It's simple, I'm going to tell them the truth."_

_The effect is instantaneous; Scott's concerned face blurs into one of genuine outrage and hurt. Erin would be offended he has no faith in her, but the guy deserves a break: Becoming a werewolf and then all this Alpha business: If the shoe was on the other foot Erin probably wouldn't trust her own shadow. She just holds her hand up before he can open his mouth and lecture her about the importance of keeping the secret etc._

"_Okay, now don't burst a blood vessel, cause like I said Scott; I don't want to be responsible for killing you. Now, I'm hardly going to parade around their house going' Guess what? You know my best friend Scott, you know the one, he was with your daughter…he's a werewolf and I totally think we should kick down his door and murder him in cold blood. Aren't I such a good friend?' I'll tell them part of the truth: The thing is, I don't want to run all the time like some archetypal damsel in distress. I'm not that kind of girl Scott and you know it, I want to fight back. I don't want to feel like an animal whose days are numbered till they're shipped off to the abattoir… And let me be honest, I want to help you with all that responsibility you carry on your shoulders: Give you a day here and there when you don't have to play the role of the Martyr because it's starting to get annoying. Plus, it's going to take more than you to protect Stiles. And who else can help you? Derek? Deaton? I don't think so. I won't let them because they're both Grade A creeps."_

_It was annoying, but she was right. Erin wasn't the kind of person who'd let someone else fight all the battle, she forced her way into the middle of things and werewolf or not Scott knew he didn't stand a chance against her when she set her mind on something. She was supernaturally stubborn, and she wouldn't be swayed in her opinion of Derek or Deaton either: Scott himself was finding it hard to trust his boss at the moment, or Derek with his fondness for making everyone think he was dead for days at a time. But God, Scott had to try and dissuade her somehow: Something didn't sit right with him knowing that Erin was putting herself in a dangerous situation._

"_I still think we should tell Stiles, E. I really do."_

_Erin could bang her head into the table, or possibly bang Scott's head against the table. She knows Scott and Stiles are close, but she's the third Musketeer and is it too bad for her to ask for some degree of secrecy for someone who's been her partner in crime since they were in nappies. It just frustrated her, Stiles was her friend: One of her best friends, but she really couldn't see why everything had to be Stiles' business. Erin was genuinely starting to think Scott had severe co-dependency issues and the object of said dependency was none other than Stiles Stilinski._

"_Scott, you keep going on about me trying to kill you: But to me it looks like you're trying to kill Stiles. He'll have an aneurysm, you know how much he worries about things. And don't you think he's got enough on his plate? Being your Yoda since you're incapable of not trying to kill us. So let him worry about you, you feel free to worry about me and I can worry about the both of you and your incredible stupidity."_

_She might've felt some remorse for her subtle jabs at Scott, but she knew that she was on to a winner with this plan. And this plan would only work if Stiles didn't know until it was absolutely necessary, so she can pamper Scott's ego at a later time but right now she has to get him on side. Scott looks offended for a moment, then remorseful and then he started to look all righteous; in all honesty, this was starting to really get on Erin's nerves. As of lately, Scott had been adopting this 'holier than thou' attitude which would be okay, if it didn't seem to contradict everything I said. I blame the Lycanthropy, or maybe hanging around Stiles more than usual, because he really was taking this dog and bone analogy to the next level: It's time to nip this in the bud._

"_Scott, please. If something happens then we'll tell Stiles although I fail to see what the Hell he could do about any of it, other than flail like a fish out of water. But until then, let him at least think that one part of his life is 'normal'. And before you start going on all about 'lying'; I suggest you look at it as being liberal with the truth. You know, kind of how you and Stiles seem to be very liberal with the truth when it comes to me."_

_Scott felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, Erin was right: He'd dragged them both into this, and their lives were becoming anything but normal. Was it fair for him to do that? And telling Stiles would only put him in more danger, and lately he and Stiles had been keeping a lot of things from Erin but she'd noticed. He was being a crap friend as of late, and with that thought he looked down in defeat: Erin was right, as per usual, he just doesn't want her putting herself in harm's way just for him. _

_Erin knew the exact moment that Scott had cracked, and despite the thrill of victory she did feel bad, after all these years she could play him like a fiddle but she knew she was doing it for the right reasons. She'd just give to charity later or something to abate the guilt that was causing her stomach to clench uncomfortable, but now she races around to throw her arms around Scott. He looked like he needs a hug with his guilt-ridden frown._

"_Ah Scotty, think about it: This is another one of our secrets. And if you're extra lucky, I might even put in a good word with Allison." _

_For a second Scott blanched, thinking the other 'secret' but at the mention of Allison he couldn't help but let a roguish grin slip onto his face; he missed the girl who he was quickly falling in love with, however cliché it may sound. Erin smirks and gives his cheek a hard pinch, cooing at him like a baby in a pushchair. He goes to slap her hand away and she dances out the way, throwing a cheeky wink in his direction and flipping her hair like she was in a bad shampoo advert._

"_See, I've already got the hunter reflexes." _

_It's so absurd that they both find themselves laughing uncontrollably. Scott couldn't help but think about Erin as a hunter, it didn't add up in his head: She wasn't violent whatsoever, unless it was giving Stiles a slap when she deemed it necessary or the 'Catfight of 2009' with Lydia Martin. But she was fiercely intelligent and pretty damn scary when someone tried to hurt one of her friends. Erin's mind was already a deadly weapon, and partner that with weapons training: If Scott was the Alpha he'd seriously consider fleeing Beacon Hills like a bat out of Hell. _

"_Okay, but just so you know. Whether or not he knows about this, he's still going to worry about you… he always does." _

_Scott's statement certainly sobers Erin, she knows Stiles will worry. He always does, it's one of the constants in all three of their lives. If there was a job description for the role Stiles played in their trio it would be along the lines of 'research like a mad man, know pointless facts, annoy Erin and worry constantly'. With the suffix of 'until Lydia Martin acknowledges your existence', but it works both ways: Scott and Erin also worried constantly about their dorky friend. _

"_But just to be clear, you aren't trying to kill me?"_

_Erin can't help herself she breaks down, Scott can't help but smile happily: He could see Erin getting inside her own head, and he always got a thrill from making his friends laugh. He just lets Erin laugh until there are tears stream down her face, she just look at him and shakes her head._

"_No, I'm not trying to kill you. But, even if I was- I wouldn't need to get my hands dirty. I might just casually advise Mama McCall to count the fine china after her nerd of a son got the crazed idea that he could become a professional plate spinner…. Whatever that is" _

_Scott's mouth drops open, she swore she'd never tell a soul. Erin just shrugged, a devious smirk curling her lips. Scott jumps to his feet, but he's too slow and Erin's already escaped the kitchen. They spend the next half an hour with Scott chasing Erin, their laughter echoing throughout the house._

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><p>Scott doesn't know what's happened, his chest doesn't feel like he can't breathe anymore. His chest doesn't burn as it does every time he has tried to think of Erin in the last two weeks. In a fact an involuntary laugh bursts from his lips, Scott would always be sad to have lost Erin and the fact that he didn't have years ahead of him to make any more crazy or downright absurd memories could be seen as a kick in the teeth. But like he told Stiles earlier, memories may fade in our mind's eye but never in our hearts, and all the memories that Scott had shared with Erin would remain inside his heart until the day he joined her wherever you went once you left this world. He knew he should go and find Kira and the rest of the pack, but Scott felt like he needed himself some ScottErin time, so he decided to make himself comfortable and spend the rest of the afternoon laughing to himself and remembering all of Erin's craziness.

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><p><strong>So, this chapter was going to be a LOT longer but some readers don't like the freakishly long chapters. And so, I've ended it here… as for the extended 'future' prologue there should be only one more chapter, maybe two. I have plotted out some Lydia, ChrisDerek, Issac/Ethan/Malia/Liam/Kira and of course a Stiles section.**

**But let me tell you, once I've done the first 4 seasons with Erin integrated… I have my own AU to enter which will throw a BIG spanner into the works. And when I return to canon, there is a chance I'll use first person and not just one POV cause I've decided I want to show various events from various POV's.**

**Now, if you'd be as kind to leave a review… I'll send you a sneak peek from the next chapter, and you'll have a pick of as to what you'd like to see ;)**

**Ornella**


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